Where Do I Go From Here?
by Sindie
Summary: PostHBP. Conflicting paths and reconciliation. Different characters. This is my take on what happened and the consequences that followed.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are copyright of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros., and they were used without permission. However, they were used with consideration and with no intention of making money. This story is simply an appreciative fan's attempt at writing something to contribute to the world of Harry Potter. 

Author's Notes: Major _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ spoilers! Do not read unless you have read HBP! 

This is my take on what happened and the consequences that followed. 

Summary: A series of little snippets of year seven. Different characters. Eventually all coming together for one explosive ending. 

Where Do I Go From Here? 

By Sindie 

Chapter One

The blackness of night opened and down fell the rain, but it did not wash away what had come to pass. Three meagre days ago, the inevitable and the horrific had transpired. Albus Dumbledore had died... at the hands of the man who now sat up in his rickety bed, the tattered covers torn back, his eyes bloodshot, his insides drained to the point of senselessness. 

Everything about the world seemed senseless to him now. What was the point of living anymore, when the greatest Light wizard of the century now lay dead in a white tomb, mourned by thousands... thousands of which would never understand why he had done what he did... because he had to do it. And here he was, left to mourn alone. 

Oh, Lord Voldemort had been exuberantly proud with him beyond understanding, his words of praise and thanks ringing through Snape's ears, false promises of the glory and honor that would be bestowed upon his most loyal servant. Contrary to what Bellatrix Lestrange had heard from his mouth nearly a year ago, Snape was not proud of what he was, of who he was, or of what he had to do. 

Looking around him, he felt like his shabby abode was appropriate for one like him. Living in a dump of a house at the end of Spinner's End, spinning out of control was his life and everything around him, and he was not safe or secure here. Alone, truly alone, Snape had returned to the only place he knew, had known for so long. Draco was with his mother, at least now, but their whereabouts were unknown. 

A coward. A bloody coward Potter had called him. Cowardly to stay holed up like this, awaiting the summons of Lord Voldemort, knowing that he would never see the one he had truly served ever again. 

_How could you have asked such a thing of me, Albus!_

Because the old wizard knew he would do it, would do as he had been told. Dumbledore had known Snape possessed a courage to do anything he asked of him. Last summer, when Voldemort had confided his secret to Snape about asking Draco to do in the aged Headmaster, it was not too long afterward that Dumbledore had found out... from Snape's very lips. According to Dumbledore, he believed it to be a part of the master plan, saying that, at some point, he would have to die, for Harry to rise and assume his rightful place. 

Of course Snape had argued countless times with Dumbledore, telling him that he was out of his mind, but the old man stood firm in his conviction. It was of little consequence when Narcissa came begging to Snape to protect her precious son and carry out the task given him if need be, since Dumbledore's death was already being planned as the Dark Lord planned. How odd that two opposite minds should think so very much alike. 

Although he knew he was hesitant to make the Unbreakable Vow, Snape knew he would only be prolonging the inevitable. Throughout the school year, he continued to argue, even plead, with Dumbledore to ask him to remove this cup from his hands, but no, it would not be so. 

When the Killing Curse had finally been issued forth from his wand, Snape knew his face displayed every shard of revulsion and hatred he felt toward Dumbledore for _making_ him do this horrible task... and toward himself as well, feeling the full effects of the pain as if bits of glass were cutting into his skin like _Sectumsempra._

Potter simply couldn't leave him to flee and get the hell out of there. Knowing he would never do any lasting damage to Potter, Snape tried to keep running, tried to block his failed attempts at curses and hexes, but finally had to blast a minor hex his way to keep him from pursuing him further. 

Coward! _Coward!_ _COWARD!_

The sheer and utter nerve of the Potter boy to dare assault and insult him with such a murderous word! Not only had Potter turned his own spells against him, but he had turned everything against him. Potter's limited mind believed him evil of the most vile sort, working for Voldemort, betrayer of Dumbledore, but what complete rubbish that all was! 

_Don't you know, Potter, that I'm doing this for **YOU!**_

"Apparently not," Snape whispered hoarsely. 

As he contemplated where the road ahead would take him, Snape felt more lost than ever. 

"Damn you, Albus! Damn you a million times over for making me do this!" he cried. Then softer, desperate, "What will I do without you?" 

If ever Snape felt like a coward, it was now, alone with himself and his thoughts to drive him mad, left at the crossroads of his miserable life, having to choose life or death. 

"Where do I go from here?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Now, more than ever, Harry felt completely out of place while living at the Dursleys'. As he had promised Dumbledore, he returned to their home one last time, anxiously awaiting the day he would turn seventeen and be free from them forever. When he told them this, Harry never thought he had seen his uncle look so happy. 

"And I suppose one of your odd friends will come to collect you, then?" Uncle Vernon asked. "Perhaps that old coot who came into our house uninvited last year?" 

Hearing his uncle talk this way about Dumbledore upset him greatly. "Don't you _dare_ talk about him that way! From your information, he's dead, and no, I'll be leaving on my own, thanks." 

Harry turned to leave and head upstairs, when his uncle's persistent voice questioned, "How did he die?" There was mere curiosity, but not a sheer shred of sympathy in that voice. 

"Don't ask," Harry ground out and headed up the stairs. 

Once in his room, he went to the desk that sat in front of the window and gazed outside. The sun was shining brilliantly on the pleasant summer day, and as much as Harry wished to venture outside, he knew that he had to keep his promise to Dumbledore. If there was one thing he had learned this past year, it was that he was truly "Dumbledore's man." 

Crossing off another day on the calendar, Harry knew it was yet one day closer to when he would be free of this place. In just two days, he would be seventeen, coming of age in the wizarding world, and he intended to step into that world as a man and do what he needed to do. 

Another promise Harry had made had been to visit his friends at the Burrow and attend Bill and Fleur's wedding. Before he left for Godric's Hollow, he would be stopping at the Weasleys' house for a couple of days, but in his heart, he felt that was all the time he could afford there. 

The wedding was beautiful, of course, even though Bill had undergone some physical changes since he had been bitten a few weeks back. When the last day of his visit arrived, Harry tried to assure and reassure the Weasleys and Hermione that he would be all right, but leaving the Burrow without their frets and worries was no easy feat. He began to wonder if escaping from his friends would prove more difficult than facing Voldemort in the end. 

"Are you sure you don't want us to come with you, Harry?" Hermione asked, a desperate, pleading look in her eyes. 

"I at least think I should do this part alone," Harry said softly. "I'm going to be visiting the place where this all started, where my parents were killed and are buried." A distant look crossed his face, but then his green eyes refocused on his friends. "I've never even visited their graves. I feel like this is something I need to do, but alone." 

"We understand, Harry," Ginny murmured, taking his hand. 

"But you'll keep it touch and let us know when you need us, right?" Ron asked hopefully. 

"Of course," Harry replied. "There's still a month until you have to return to Hogwarts... if it opens again." 

Forcing himself away from the people who meant the most to him, Harry apparated to Godric's Hollow, not wanting to gaze upon their forlorn faces any longer. He had luckily passed the apparation test the day right after his birthday, so this made travelling much easier. Also, he had the advantage of being of age now, so using magic was not prohibited. 

When he arrived in Godric's Hollow, he noticed a heavy mist hanging in the streets and wondered if this meant the Dementors were breeding somewhere nearby. There was a chill in the air as he set foot toward the relatively small village, noticing that many of the houses were abandoned. As Harry walked cautiously through the cobblestoned street now, he recalled the directions Lupin had given him to where his old house had been, the Potters' home that had been destroyed on the night they had perished. 

Harry noticed that the sun was quickly setting and pulled the hood of his robe over his head, not wanting to arouse unwanted eyes. He made a left, then a right, and another right, and then he came to the spot. Standing there, gazing out at the empty lot ahead of him, Harry would have never known a house had once stood there. A field of overgrown weeds was all that filled the area, and as he drew closer, he wondered sadly if any part, no matter how small, of his home remained. 

Stepping into the field, the grass brushed against his robe, some of the strands coming up nearly to his waist. Harry kept his eyes on the ground, scanning for something, some small reminder of what he knew had been his home a long time ago. Only dirt and weeds stared back at him. 

Deciding there was nothing else here worth seeing, Harry left the spot, feeling too filled with grief and memories he couldn't really remember. He found a bench and sat down. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine that night, his father dying first, then his mother frantically pleading with Voldemort and dying nonetheless, tried to imagine Sirius coming on his motorbike, only to be turned away by Hagrid, who would have been acting on Dumbledore's orders to take him to the Dursleys. 

Harry frowned. He sincerely hoped his would never have to see the Dursleys again and wondered why Dumbledore and Sirius had not survived, but the Dursleys had. Something was horribly unfair about the whole charade, for that was what he felt those memories were. 

Clenching his wand, Harry stood up and left for the cemetery. By now, darkness had settled on the land, but Harry didn't care. He was hardly afraid of walking into a normal cemetery at night, especially considering what he had gone through two years ago when Voldemort had risen again. 

Searching through the tombstones, it didn't take long before he found two stones marked "James Potter" and "Lily Evans Potter." Side by side, the stones served as a reminder that James and Lily had been laid to rest next to each other sixteen years ago. 

"Hi, Mum... Hi, Dad," Harry murmured softly, his voice thick, blinking back the burning sensation in his eyes. "I've finally come to visit you..." 

_Not that the Dursleys would have ever come here..._ he thought bitterly. 

Reaching out a hand to stroke the smooth surface of the stones, Harry whispered, "I hope you'd be proud of me. I never asked for any of this, you know... This 'Chosen One' rubbish... To be 'The Boy Who Lived...'" 

Allowing his words to trail off into the darkness and become lost, Harry felt suddenly so utterly lost. The hope he had felt right after Dumbledore's death was quickly dissipating, vanishing seemingly into the breeze encircling his lone form. 

"Where do I go from here?" 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Blackness stared back at him, blurry at first, but then slowly coming in focus as he blinked several times. Merlin, did his head ache, but the migranes were common now, and he seriously considered the possibility that he had developed chronic headaches over the past several weeks. 

The longer he stood there, aimlessly staring himself down, he wondered how he ever had the gall to look himself in the eyes anymore. Seeing the fragile face of a murderer staring back at him was, well, not something any man with any small amount of morals would want to live with. 

His hair now hung several inches past his shoulders, matted and greasier than ever, and his eyes were nothing but hollow sockets in a gaunt face, his cheekbones sticking out severly. Were it not for his black robes covering his body, one would have quickly thought him to be malnourished. The ashen look of his skin only added to the disarray of his outer appearance, which was certainly no disillusion for what lay beneathe. 

Judging by the amount of sunlight coming through the grimy window, Snape figured it was already late afternoon. He had wasted away yet another atrocious day, wondering when might finally come the day when he wouldn't have to open his eyes any longer. So far, he had not been granted that blessing. Casting himself one last filthy look, he turned on himself and exited the austere room with a slam of the door. 

He had been moving from place to place, trying to keep a low profile, and perhaps, in some small, unknown way, be of some use to the side of Light, even though they would never have believed so. Summons from the Dark Lord had been few and far between, but for the simple sake of keeping up appearances, he had attended several raids. In all this, he had to keep questioning himself: Was sacrificing a few lives, including that of his late friend, professor, and master, worth the greater good? 

Snape spat into the corner of the hallway at the very thought of it, answering that question. 

Now, he was holed up in some small town, the name of which he couldn't recall in his half-drunken state. Living off alcohol and pure adrenaline, he sentenced himself to his own malicious misery and persistent punishment. 

Seating himself haphazardly at the bar, he scowled at the others nearby. Only a couple of grubby men managed to pass dark looks at him, but they were here with their own sets of problems, drinking their own pathetic lives away, and their petty problems didn't concern Snape in the least. 

_Heh! Problems indeed!_ he thought sarcastically. 

The barmaid, however, did not seem put off by his demeanor. Leaning over the counter, in a calculated position which made her cleavage _very_ conveniently noticeable, she asked, "Whatcha havin', m'lad?" 

Snape's most primal instincts kicked into full gear in that moment. He could have blamed it on any number of reasons, from the ill effects of the alcohol, to sleep-deprivation, to the desperation, to the borderline insanity, but swallowing down his Adam's apple, he croaked hoarsely, "Just a shot of whiskey would suffice, thank you." 

"Sure thing," she said with a wink. 

Trying to clear his head back into a sensical state, Snape wondered what she was playing at. Did she see something in him that others failed to observe? He just as quickly dismissed such a notion as complete and utter rubbish. She was nothing but a tramp who probably played her show for all the blokes who came through this miserable pub. 

A moment later, she placed the drink down in front of him, cradling it with her hands, leaning on the counter again, the glass nearly clutched between her well-endowed womanliness. 

"Uh... th-thank you," Snape managed, suddenly feeling quite a bit warmer. Tugging at his collar, he loosened it, which she seemed to notice. 

Smiling saccharinely at him, she practically purred, "Hot?" 

He didn't say anything, and when she finally relented, Snape heaved a sigh of relief and downed the drink. Moments later, she was back and just as soon offered him another drink. 

And another. 

And another. 

And another. 

He was now thoroughly piss-drunk, and the barmaid seemed to have eyes only for him. Most of the other patrons had left. 

"You lonely?" she ventured softly. 

"Mmm-hmm." 

She did her trick again, but this time, she was leaning so far over, her face was a mere two inches from his own. "Rough times, these are. Maybe you need somethin' to ease your sorrows? Forget the pain, if only for a lil' while?" 

Her words like sugar, temptingly sweet, evoked a longing that had gone unsatisfied for years. He was no longer aware so much of what he was doing as he followed her to a back room, clearly awaiting something pleasurable to placate the long-suffering pain; speaking of which, a throbbing type of pain had begun in his groin. 

Then, before his stupered eyes, the barmaid began to change. If it was true that women were supposed to become more attractive with more drinks, then Snape didn't know what the hell was the backward reasoning for what he was witnessing. In front of him, she wrinkled and greyed, aging an insane number of years, and to make matters worse and more disturbing, the lovely lass sprouted a long beard. 

"What the hell?" Snape asked, every word slurred. 

He tried to make for the door, but his reflexes were harshly and heavily impaired, and he felt a stinging in his right hand as his wand was taken from him, which he now just realized he had reached for when she began her transformation. 

Stepping toward the unnerved, vexed Snape, the old man who was now alone in the room with him said harshly, "Thought you'd be getting pleasure, eh, Snape? No, for you, it's only pain." 

As those steely blue eyes penetrated his being, Snape wanted to scream.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

After spending a considerable amount of time in Godric's Hollow, Harry had come to the sad conclusion that the little town held nothing but old, burnt-out memories for him. He had frequented the local pubs, where some of the people had cast him strange looks. A couple of older men had even asked him if he was related to James Potter, seeing the obvious resemblance. Feeling he would be unable to explain the strange circumstances under which his parents had died and his living with Muggles, he merely shook his head. Despite this, though, some people were kind enough to recount their own pleasant memories of the Potters to Harry.

"So young to have died," an older lady said one rainy night.

"Didn't live here long, the Potters, but always such a nice, charming couple."

"She was so lovely."

"He was quite helpful."

Now, looking at the desolate field of over-grown weeds that had long ago taken over the space where the Potters' house had once stood, Harry clung onto those precious words about his parents, feeling they were more valuable than gold. He kept them close to his heart, and with a slight shake of the head, he apparated away from Godric's Hollow.

There was nothing left for him there.

When he reappeared at his destination, he noticed the Burrow off in the distance. He forlornly thought of apparating to almost this precise spot with Dumbledore a year before, how Dumbledore had explained it rude to merely apparate directly into somebody's residence. One light was still on in the house, in the kitchen. Walking toward the home, Harry felt exhausted beyond belief, like every step was a challenge, as if his feet were made of boulders.

Finally, he reached the front door and knocked twice. Someone stirred within, and a shadow moved in the light coming from the window.

"Who- who's there?" asked Mrs. Weasley's voice, trembling a bit.

"It's Harry, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied.

"Prove yourself," she insisted. "If you're really Harry, then what is my youngest son's favorite color of underwear?"

Harry felt a blush rising in his cheeks at the question. What kind of question was this anyway? Supposing that Mrs. Weasley would know what color underwear Ron preferred, having done his laundry for all these years, Harry found himself less inclined to know. He thought (albeit not wanting to) of what color underwear Ron usually had on whenever the unfortunate incident of his undergarment showing over the top of his pants occurred.

"Erm... purple?" Harry asked.

"That's right!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, throwing open the door. Before Harry could reply, he was being pulled into a bone-crushing embrace. "Oh, Harry, dear! We were so worried about you!"

When Harry was able to extricate himself from the embrace, Harry said with a slight pant, "It's good to be back, Mrs. Weasley. I gotta admit, though, I'm awfully knackered."

At the sound of the words, Mrs. Weasley turned into the stern, well-meaning mother and practically commanded, "Well, then, off to bed with you, Harry. You can use the twins' old room again, and be sure to get up in time for a hearty breakfast in the morning."

With a nod and expressing his thanks, Harry went upstairs and promptly fell asleep. When morning came, he didn't even have a moment to wake up when Hermione, Ginny, and Ron came bursting like mental patients into his room.

"Harry! You're back!" Ginny exclaimed, hugging the barely conscious Harry much in the same manner her mother had.

Hermione hugged him next, almost as tightly, and Harry wondered if his lungs would still be functional. Seeing Ron, who was much larger and much stronger than the girls, Harry said weakly, jokingly, "Please tell me you're not gonna hug me, too."

Ron grinned and gave Harry a friendly jab in the arm, saying, "All right, not this time, at least. It's good to see ya, mate. Tell us all about what happened."

Over breakfast, Harry told the Weasleys and Hermione about his trip to Godric's Hollow, and although it had been fruitless as far as finding any evidence to point him in the right direction was concerned, he didn't think it had been a waste in the least. When asked where he intended to go next, Harry had to pause and think for a minute. To him, the next logical place would be Grimmauld Place, and he hadn't yet been there since inheriting the broken down house.

"Any news about Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

Mrs. Weasley nodded sadly. "I'm afraid it's not going to reopen this year. So tragic, so unbelievable." The matron wiped a couple of stray tears from her freckled face.

The whole table was silent for a while. Harry wondered how Hermione had reacted to the news about Hogwarts, for a bookworm like her surely couldn't imagine not returning to school. To be completely truthful, however, no one could imagine Hogwarts not reopening. This year, the year that was to be Harry's seventh and last year at Hogwarts, would be so vastly different from every other year before.

He had not changed his mind about his decision not to return, though. He knew he had a quest, and this quest was one of the only things he had to keep his mind off stewing about the events of the end of his sixth year. Thinking about Dumbledore always led to thinking about his death, but he was Dumbledore's man, his chosen disciple, and he would carry out and finish what Dumbledore had started.

Later that day, the four Gryffindors were sitting in Ron's room.

"How long will you stay?" Ron asked.

"Probably just a couple of days, but then I need to move on," Harry said, feeling restless.

"We're still coming with you," Hermione stated, leaving no room for argument.

"I'm coming, too," Ginny piped in.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Mrs. Weasley came bustling into the room. "You most certainly will not!" she exclaimed shrilly to her children and Hermione.

"But we're his best friends!" Ron argued, standing up, looming over his mother. "Besides, Hermione and I are of age. There's little you can do to stop us, Mum, and c'mon, think about it: D'you really want Harry to go at this alone?"

"Well, well... n- no, of course not," Mrs. Weasley said, her lips trembling, "but I can worry, can't I?"

Harry nodded. "I think they've already made up their minds, Mrs. Weasley. I don't want them putting themselves in unnecessary danger either, but they _are_ my closest friends, and if anyone's going with me, it's them."

Mrs. Weasley sighed, nodding in defeat, but then focused in on Ginny. "You, however, young lady, are NOT of age. You are staying home."

A fury rose in Ginny's cheeks unlike anything Harry had ever seen. "That's not fair!" Ginny hollered. "You think Harry doesn't mean just as much to me?"

"I'll not hear another word, Ginevra!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed, slamming the door shut.

Ginny sulked, angry beyond words. Harry tried to comfort her, saying she would be safer this way, but Ginny glared at him and shrugged him off, leaving the room.

"She doesn't even know how to apparate," Ron pointed out. "She'd just be in the way."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly.

"Well, it's true."

Hermione, annoyed with Ron's apparant insensitively toward his younger sister, left the room.

"Oh, she'll find a way to come with us if she's that determined," Ron said about Ginny.

Harry nodded. "That's what I'm afraid of."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_Thought you'd be getting pleasure, eh, Snape? No, for you, it's only pain._

Those words echoed through Snape's numbed brain, banging off every wall he had erected to keep intruders out and filling every corner where he hid his deepest thoughts. No one, save Dumbledore, ever possessed the power or, more importantly, the understanding and compassion to breach Snape's barriers, but this old man directly in front of him had just done exactly that in a matter of a few mere seconds. 

"Do what you have come to do, then, Aberforth," Snape replied in a raspy, worn voice. He had the nerve, or the courage, to look the other man in the eyes as he said this. 

Aberforth raised his wand in his gnarled hand, and it took every ounce of Snape's willpower not to turn his hand away at that instant. It wasn't because he was afraid of being killed, no; it was because seeing the hands of a man whose so much resembled Dumbledore's was like feeling the Killing Curse already striking him lifeless. 

Instead of "Avada Kedevra," though, a sobering spell was elicited from Aberforth's wand, and Snape immediately felt the spell's intended effects. The alcohol-induced nausea had dissipated, and his vision had cleared. 

He was truly at a loss for words now, and imagined that if he could see his own visage, he would have been gaping stupidly like a fish at the old man. 

"Getting you drunk was only necessary to get you back here, you fool," Aberforth almost barked. "I can't exactly hold a decent conversation with an inebriated man, now can I?" 

"What do you what?" Snape asked guardly. 

Aberforth couldn't help the grim smirk that crossed his face. "You thought I intended only to kill you, Snape? Oh, no. When I said I would bring you pain, I meant it - do not doubt me. You have murdered my brother, and I have every right to despise the very sight or thought of you now. Albus trusted you implicitly for reasons that I never understood, but then again, he was always more forgiving than I was. But I know one thing: Albus was not a fool. He must have had his reasons for trusting you, and I should like very much to know what they were. I cannot help but to believe now, however, that you are nothing but a worthless traitor, but in the process of forcing you to relive in your mind all your contact and feelings associated with Albus, you will feel tremendous pain if you had even an inkling of love for the man. If you do not feel pain during said process, then believe me, you will most definitely feel pain afterward, when I find out that are you indeed a TRAITOR!" 

Snape froze. Was Aberforth as skilled at Legilimency as Dumbledore had been? Why had Dumbledore never told him this? Damn the old man if he were still alive! 

"And if I refuse?" Snape questioned. 

"Why would you refuse? You are not the one calling the shots here, Snape. You are at my mercy now, young man." 

Snape wanted to refuse point-blank. A part of him still held too much pride to allow himself to be examined as if on an operating table by even the most experienced physician. Everything was either life or death now. 

"Why not just kill me, you old man?" Snape challenged, his voice growing impatient. "You could brag to all your friends in the Order that you found the traitor and did away with him, and in the process, exacted your revenge on the very man who murdered your beloved brother." 

"Because I am not like you!" Aberforth yelled. "Despite my grim outlook on the ways of the world lately, I still believe, albeit probably in vain like my brother, that there is good in everyone. If you are somehow... innocent," he spat out the word with extreme distaste, "then you have nothing to lose." 

"Very well," Snape muttered. He supposed that this may be his only chance to prove that he was not at least quite as vile a betrayer was everyone thought he was. 

Aberforth stepped forward and pointed his wand directly at Snape's forehead and said, "Legilimens!" 

For once, Snape didn't try to block anything. Having blocked so much for so long, though, he was now feeling raw, bare, and vulnerable. He might as well have just laid all his memories and thoughts out on a table for the world to examine, poke, prod, nudge... rip, tear, destroy. He saw what he imagined had to be every memory he ever had of Dumbledore, and one by one, they flashed before his eyes. He could feel ice cold hands ripping him open, tearing his flesh away from the muscle and bone, eating away his insides like an infestation of worms and maggots, and then, worst of all, the piercing of a thousand daggers through every part of his body. This was not the mercy of death - no, far from it. The Killing Curse was painless; this was the most excruciating sort of pain he had ever felt inflicted upon him in his life, and its source didn't have to be physical. No amount of Crucios from Voldemort or the Death Eaters could have compared, and not knowing what had actually happened in the process, Snape was now lying down on the dirty wooden placks on the floor, curled into a fetal position, and silent tears were streaking down his face, burning his skin. 

At long last, Aberforth relented. The old man's hand was shaky, and he now looked with sorrow down at the man on the floor in front of him. Stooping to Snape's level, Aberforth laid a hand on his back and gently said, "It is over now, Severus. You don't have to explain anything. I now understand." 

Snape looked up at Aberforth in disbelief and felt an enormously heavy weight lift off his chest. He felt he could breathe fresh air again, for the first time in days, someone believed in him.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Harry slowly felt the fog lifting as he came out of his early morning reverie. Opening his eyes, he reached for his glasses on the nightstand next to the bed. Although the first rays of the summer sun were barely penetrating through the darkness of the waning night, a few birds were already chirping merrily outside the window. 

Smiling sadly at his surroundings of the Burrow, Harry wondered when he would see his second home again. Since he had long ago stopped considering the Dursleys' house his home, Hogwarts had become his first home, but spending summers and Christmas with the Weasleys was a close number two. 

Across the room, Ron was snoring lightly, his mouth open and his right arm hanging over the side of the bed. Even though he could have chosen to spend the night in the twins' old room, Harry decided to sleep one last time in Ron's room, for old time's sake. 

A passing thought went through his mind, and Harry wondered what would happen if he simply decided to sneak out of the house unnoticed by the sleeping family and be on his way. He knew how insistent Ron and Hermione had been on accompanying him on his journey to who-knows-where. He guiltily thought of Ginny, frowning with consternation at her sheer persistence yesterday in coming with them. 

Harry knew, though, that if he left without his friends, they would find him somehow, between Hermione's intelligence and Ron's craftiness. So, deciding now was as best a time as any, Harry stood up and got dressed. He made sure he had his bags packed and shrunk them down to a miniscule size, placing them inside his pocket. 

Once he was downstairs, he was greeted by Mrs. Weasley, who was already banging about the kitchen preparing breakfast, her nerves obviously frayed. Harry flashed her a small, quick smile, and she smiled back sadly. 

"Maybe it's selfish of me to think this, Harry, but I don't want you to go," she murmured softly, stirring a pot of oatmeal. She brought her hand up to wipe a stray tear away. 

"You're not being selfish, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied. "Just... concerned. I understand, and thank you for caring so much. This is something I have to do, though." 

"I know, dear; I know. That doesn't make it any easier, though." She came over toward Harry and placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. "Eat up, young man. You'll need your strength." 

Smiling wistfully, Harry ate the oatmeal in silence, unsure of what to say. 

Before long, Hermione and Ron had joined him. Mrs. Weasley was practically drowning herself in a flood of torrential tears by the time the trio announced their departure. Mr. Weasley, on the other hand, kept most of his emotion inside, but that didn't mean he wasn't concerned for them. Ginny stood oddly silent to the side, her face nearly expressionless, which worried Harry more than he wished. He gave her a half-hearted hug, but she barely returned it, only placing one arm weakly around Harry and then turning her head the other way. After being told countless times to be careful and keep in touch, Harry, Ron, and Hermione left through the front door and walked a short distance. 

"Well, she knew she wasn't allowed to come," Ron was saying. 

"Yeah, but she was acting quite off," Hermione insisted. "I'm telling you, Ron, something isn't right with Ginny." 

"'Course not," Ron tried to joke. "She's Ginny, after all." 

Hermione smacked him half-playfully in the arm. 

"Hey, guys... I was thinking of going to Grimmauld Place first," Harry started to say, but then his attention was drawn away from his two bickering friends. In the road ahead, he thought he saw something move in the shade of a tree. Reaching for his wand, Harry hissed to his friends, "Stop. There's someone up there." 

Ron cursed under his breath, and Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. They stopped moving all together and kept their eyes peeled. Then, the figure emerged slightly from the shadows, enough for a glimpse of red long hair to be seen. 

"Ginny!" they all exclaimed, totally astonished. 

"What the blazes d'you think you're doing?" Ron asked heatedly, quickly charging toward her. "How'd you get here before us? You were back at the house." 

"Was I?" Ginny asked, a slight smirk on her face. "Don't tell me you're that thick. Surely you noticed something odd about 'me.'" 

Then it dawned on Harry. "Polyjuice," he said simply. 

Ginny nodded with triumph. 

"But how- ?" Ron started to say, but Hermione cut him off. "Let me guess - Fred and George were behind this," she said. 

"Ten points to Hermione," Ginny said. "Fred wasn't exactly too thrilled to be hugged by you all, especially you, Ron, but he was willing to do what was necessary if it meant this whole thing would be successful." 

Harry thought of the twins' joke shop and imagined that they must have access to all sorts of rare and exotic things, including the ingredients for making Polyjuice Potion. As impressed as he was, however, he had a bad feeling about whatever Ginny meant by "this whole thing" being "successful." 

"I'm coming with you," she plainly stated. 

"No, Ginny," Harry tried to argue as gently as possible. "It's-" 

"Too dangerous, yes, I know. I've heard you say it a million times already, Harry, and you know what? I don't care!" 

Ron laughed and rolled his eyes. "Right, Gin. You're so convinced that you're gonna come with us, huh? Good luck trying to apparate. You haven't even got a license." 

"You know," Ginny said almost conversationally, "I may not have a license, but I have had two very effective, influential teachers. Fred and George were naturals when it came to learning how to apparate." 

"Fred and George have been teaching you how to apparate!" Ron exploded. "I don't believe you! When? Where? That's a load of rubbish if I've ever heard one." 

"Actually, Ron," intervened Hermione, "it is possible. They could have practiced anywhere on your property. Underage wizards and witches are expected to not use their magic outside school, but it can't be traced on private wizard property, including their homes. Parents are supposed to keep their kids under control. Knowing Fred and George, this is exactly the kind of thing they would do." 

Ron glowered severely. "Well, you're still not coming with us," he ground out. 

"Try me," Ginny replied just as intensely. "I heard where Harry said you were planning on going. Extendable Ears another thing I have to thank Fred and George for. You run to Mum or try to go without me, and I'll attempt apparating by myself." 

"Like hell you will!" Ron exclaimed, making to grab her by the arm, but Harry stepped in front of her. 

"Ron, calm down!" Harry exclaimed, growing annoyed with his friend. "You're not helping." 

"Then what do you suggest, o-mighty leader?" Ron questioned sardonically. 

Harry had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Turning to Ginny, he sighed. "You're pretty insistent on going, I say see, Gin, and when you've got your mind made up, I know you wouldn't change it for the world." Turning to Ron and Hermione, he continued, "She'll have to come with us. We can't risk her doing anything rash and wind up breaking the law or worse, spliching herself." 

Hermione nodded with understanding, but Ron simply continued to glare at Ginny and Harry. 

Harry wrapped his arm around Ginny, whispering into her ear, "You can apparate with me. I'll keep you safe." 

With their destination in mind, three crackling pops were heard, and four teenagers disappeared out of sight.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Having someone believe in him brought a renewed sense of belonging and perseverance to Severus Snape. Aberforth Dumbledore was at present his only living connection to the Order of the Phoenix, and Albus Dumbledore's brother insisted that they not be too hasty in their approach toward the Order and what to do next.

"First things first," Aberforth had said, casting a somewhat disgusted look at Snape, "when was the last time you looked in a mirror?"

Snape had glowered at the old man, for he had just regarded his reflection earlier that day. He didn't need reminding that he looked like hell run over by a herd of hippogriffs.

"I suggest you take a couple of days to try and get yourself back on course, Severus. If you intend not to scare the other members of the Order away when they see you again, I would clean up a bit if I were you. Sleep deprivation and malnutrition have never helped the mind think coherently, either, and your mind will need to be as sharp as ever if you are to be of any use to us."

"Perhaps I intend to scare them," Snape had muttered, walking away, assuming he was dismissed from the ever-growing insufferable man.

Now, he was back in the room he had been occupying these past few days at the inn. Snape had never been one to pride himself on physical attractiveness and honestly didn't cater to being overly concerned with trying to somehow look better than he truly did, and this wasn't just outwardly. He had grown accustomed to constantly assuming a guise, pretending to be someone else in the presence of two masters and their respective sides. From time to time, when he reflected on just who the bloody hell he was (and not who he was "supposed to be"), he felt lost.

Shoving all thoughts into the rear recesses of his overly-self-analyzing mind, Snape figured that the first thing he needed was a long, refreshing shower. Removing his soiled clothing, he glared at the pile of black robes on the floor. Picking them up, he promptly threw them into the fire, further fueling the burning mass of logs.

Stepping into the shower, a half-hopeful thought of figuratively shedding his old clothing and acquiring new garments, of cleansing himself of old filth, and of maybe even starting over in a way crossed his mind.

_No, you fool,_ he told himself harshly. _Do not pretend to hold onto false hope. Albus is gone, and now you must pick up the pieces of anything possibly worthwhile about yourself that you've shattered._

The shower felt good, plain and simple, and now that he was away from the dank confines of the dungeons, his hair would actually stay clean longer. Those old jokes the Marauders (and others) used to pass around about his greasy hair were cruel, to be sure, but there had been some truth to it. How was he supposed to help it that, as a teenager, his hormones had resulted in oilier than normal hair, and then as an adult, for his living arrangements and profession of being bent over a cauldron most of the day to have not helped matters any where his hair was concerned?

All that aside, Snape was now finished in the shower. He wrapped himself immediately in a towel, not desiring to look down at his nude body any longer than necessary. He knew of the scars that covered much of his chest and back - remembered how he had come to acquire each one, in fact. He didn't need reminding of the torture he had endured countless times at the Dark Lord's hands. Nor did he need or want to look upon his far too thin frame and the pale, sickly-colored skin that covered it.

Dressed in a simple black robe (hardly surprising, considering who is being written about here), Snape performed a drying charm on his hair and finally looked at himself in the mirror, face-to-face with his reflection. His hair fell in soft, silky curtains around his face, and he was tempted to leave it like that and continue to hide from himself and the world that way.

But no, today was to be a new beginning. Pushing the long hair back from his face, he took them time to really look himself in the eyes. The children he had taught always imagined his eyes being purely black and never-ending, afraid they would become forever-lost if they dared gaze into those unfathomable eyes, but his eyes were not truly that way. Just a very dark brown. And in them, what desperation and confusion, and if anyone were lost, it was Snape himself. He saw tiny reflections of himself mirrored back in his own eyes, watching as the surfaces glossed over as if covered in glass, and then he blinked and realized that tears had been forming unknowingly in his eyes.

He berated himself for what he believed an apparate weakness and proceeded with his grooming. Taking his wand, he used it to trim off about an inch at the bottom of his hair. Even though his hair was now longer than his shoulders by a few inches, he decided he rather liked it that way and left it alone for the most part. As for the circles around his eyes, he knew he needed sleep, so to the bed he went.

That night, Snape dreamt of Dumbledore. The wise wizard was telling him to smile for once, telling them that maybe then he would see the beauty within himself.

"If only you would smile, Severus, my dear boy," Dumbledore kept saying, almost in a pleading-like manner.

"But I have forgotten how to smile," Snape replied over and over again, just as desperately. "I have nothing to smile for."

"Oh, but that is where you are wrong, my child. I can only tell you, but you must choose whether or not to _believe_."

Snape felt a rush of something sweep through his hair, and he thought Dumbledore had reached out to him with a gentle gesture, but when he opened his eyes, he realized all too suddenly that he had left the window open, and it was nothing more than the wind.

_Annoying as ever, aren't you, Albus? You can't even leave me alone in your afterlife._

Snape paused in his thoughts and strode back to the bed and listened intently to his surroundings. Far off in the distance, beyond the walls within himself and the walls of the tavern, he thought he heard a phoenix's song.

"I must be delirious," he muttered, shaking his head and returning to the bed. As he pulled the covers back over himself, a part of him believed that Dumbledore truly had spoken to him that night.

Once morning came, there was a knock at the door. Never one to enjoy the mornings for what they could be worth, Snape groggily left the bed and glanced through the peephole. It was Aberforth.

To be sure, Snape asked the security question. "What is your favorite animal?"

"A goat. Who is your favorite Muggle author?"

"Poe."

Assured that it was really Aberforth on the other side of that door, Snape opened it. Aberforth was carrying a tray of breakfast foods, which smelled heavenly delicious. Setting the tray down on a small table between two armchairs near the fireplace, Aberforth said, "You look like you could use a good, decent meal or two."

"Thanks," Snape muttered, a mixture of sarcasm and gratitude in his voice. Sarcasm because he didn't need reminding of his thinness and gratitude because he was thankful for the food.

"I trust you slept well," Aberforth stated. Not awaiting an answer, for Snape was perusing the food in front of him, the older man continued, "What do you know about horcruxes, Severus?"

Snape frowned in consternation, searching his mind for any semblance of a memory in which he had heard that word uttered. Nothing.

"What are horcruxes?" Snape asked.

"Then that is where I shall begin," Aberforth said by way of explanation.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had not changed one bit. As Harry and his friends walked down the long corridor that led to the door to the basement kitchen, Harry was glad that the curtains over the late Mrs. Black's portrait were closed. They kept as quiet as was possible, not wanting to give the picture any reason to start her ranting.

Once they entered the kitchen, the smell of stale air grew even stronger. It was all too obvious that the house had not been used for some time, not even for an Order meeting, what with Dumbledore being dead now and everything.

"Nice place you've got here, Harry," remarked Ron wryly, eyeing the kitchen's filthy cabinets and walls up and down.

"Hey, I didn't ask for it," replied Harry defensively.

"But surely you're glad this house is in your possession and not Bellatrix Lestrange's?" Hermione questioned.

"Well, of course I am," Harry said with a drawn-out sigh. "But seeing it only reminds me of Sirius being locked up in here. I'm beginning to wonder if even coming here was a good idea after all."

"We had to start somewhere," Ginny pointed out softly. "Here's as good as anywhere."

"And the Blacks were a prominant Pureblood family, don't forget," added Hermione. "They may have some information on horcruxes."

"Or one might even be here," Ron joked.

Thoughts of pouring through countless books left Harry's mind with Ron's one statement. "Wait, you might be right," Harry said, literally stopping in his tracks as he paced.

The others remembered it, too.

"The locket!" they all exclaimed.

Harry recalled seeing a golden locket in the summer before his fifth year, one that no one could open. Just as soon as he tried to remember where they had found it inside the house, his heart dropped like a boulder.

"Bugger!" he swore loudly, pounding his fist on the table. "We threw it away! Don't you remember?"

They others felt their hearts sinking as well, but then Hermione gasped with the realization that there still might be hope. "But didn't Kreacher take some of the things we tried to get rid of and save them in his little hovel?"

This rollercoaster that Harry felt he was riding simply wouldn't stop. His eyes lit up and he nodded. They practically dashed to the place where Kreacher had once claimed as his bed and secret place. Inside were old photographs, many ancient trinkets, and an assortment of what Harry believed to be mere useless junk.

"It's not here," he mumbled, slumping defeatedly into a nearby chair. "But it had to have been here!" Harry felt his temper hanging by a fragile thread, and it was ready to break at any moment. He frantically searched his mind for anything regarding the missing locket.

"Mundungus Fletcher!" he suddenly erupted, now very angry, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

"What?" Ron and Ginny asked. Hermione quickly realized to what Harry was referring, but before she could formulate a response, Harry continued, "I saw him that day outside the Hog's Head! He had nicked Sirius's stuff and was selling it like he always does with stolen goods! That bastard... I swear..."

Harry felt only rage at the thief. Now how would he ever find what he was looking for?

"It could be anywhere," Ginny muttered hopelessly.

As was usual, Hermione had an idea. "Wait, Harry, do you have the letter with you? You know, the one you found in the fake locket?"

Harry jerked his head in affirmative and ripped the paper out of his pocket. Hermione scanned it and nodded. "It's as I thought," she whispered. "Look."

Harry, Ron, and Ginny all looked at the initials: "R.A.B."

"Yeah, so?" Ron asked. "We already knew that."

"No," Hermione insisted. "Can't you see it? R.A.B.? He referred to Voldemort as the 'Dark Lord,' but he was clearly defying Voldemort, too. This man had to have been a Death Eater, but he changed sides."

"Don't try and tell me you think it's Snape," Ron said, aghast. "He was never really working for Dumbledore in the first place."

Hermione sighed loudly. "No, it's not Snape. It's Regulus A. Black. Remember what Sirius told you, Harry, when-"

"When Regulus wanted out, he was killed shortly thereafter," Harry finished.

"Well, what if Regulus somehow found out about the horcruxes and made it his mission to destroy one before he was found out? The man who wrote this message obviously didn't think he had long to live."

"That... could be possible," said Harry slowly. "That would explain why we saw the locket here."

"Exactly," Hermione affirmed. "If this is true, then that's one less horcrux you have to worry about."

Ginny reached for Harry's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "See, Harry?" she whispered into his ear. "You've got us to help you along this journey."

Suddenly feeling much calmer, Harry relaxed and allowed himself to smile. "Yes, I do have you."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Snape now knew what a Horcrux was. Aberforth had personally shown him an old locket that had once belonged to none other than Salazar Slytherin. Amazed, Snape reached to touch it, and Aberforth handed it to him, explaining that the object was no longer enchanted and was therefore perfectly harmless.

That had not always been the case, though. Many years prior, Regulus Black, younger brother of Sirius and a Death Eater who wanted out of the ranks of evil that followed Voldemort, had hunted down the locket Horcrux. Where he had found the information concerning the Horcruxes and their function was a mystery, but nonetheless, the important thing was that Regulus had found a way to destory the locket, just as Dumbledore had destroyed the ring and Harry the diary. Just as Dumbledore had suffered the loss of the use of his hand, it having turned black and withered, so Regulus's left arm had been gravely damaged.

"And the biggest secret of it all," Aberforth said softly, "was that Voldemort had thought Regulus dead. He could no longer sense his presence, after all, but instead, Regulus's arm was severed, and therefore the Dark Mark was no longer a part of him."

Truly at a loss for words for a long time, Snape finally found his voice. "Is he still alive, then?"

"No one knows," Aberforth replied with a hapless shrug.

Now Snape was back in his room yet again, frowning at his reflection. Information was valuable, no doubt, but if he were to pursue the long and difficult road ahead, he needed to be prepared to travel it alone. Dumbledore was gone, and Aberforth, although rather supportive, could not fill the void that was quickly growing inside Snape's hollow chest.

He had always known that one day his life would come to this end, that he would ultimately have to sacrifice himself in the process of protecting an ungrateful child - or so that was how Snape viewed Harry Potter, even now. Promises of having the Order's allegiance fell short of their fulfillment.

"It would be too soon to tell them truth concerning you, Severus," Aberforth had said in an uncharacterically gentle voice. "Maybe in time, but for now, you must keep a low profile."

Keep a low profile, indeed. Snape was quite accustomed to doing just that, but after years and years of slithering around like a snake of its belly through the darkness of night, Snape was tired of what felt like some sort of sick game.

_I'm only a pawn in this whole thing,_ he thought grimly. _The key players have always been Albus and the Dark Lord, and Potter is the hero. My role is not finished, and I will see it through to the end - whatever that end may be._

Stay behind the scenes and help Potter - that was what he meant to do. Snape wondered why he had bothered to improve his health and appearance these past few days. Letting oneself fall to the mercy of slow death seemed so much more logical when death was already standing on the front stoop, just waiting to be invited in.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Blackness filled every space within the depressed house, darkening corners that no one thought could possibly be made darker and darkening the hopes of those who slept fitfully on lumpy, old mattresses held up meagerly by beds with weak, shifty frames. Harry rolled onto his side for the umpteenth time that unsettling night, for sleep simply refused to come. He couldn't very well ignore the heavy rain that was pelting the roof and all sides of the house nor the thunder that cracked across the rolling sky like a whip.

Sighing loudly, he sat up in bed and rubbed absently at his scar. Voldemort either had not been doing anything exciting recently, or the connection between the two opposing wizards had grown even weaker, for Harry had not felt even the slightest prickle on his forehead lately. From across the room, Ron's uneven snores could barely be heard over the noise of the unrelenting rainstorm, and with a sudden flash of lightning, Harry's eyes glimpsed Ron's slumbering form.

Wanting - no, needing - someone or something to distract his overactive mind, Harry grabbed his glasses off the nightstand and practically slapped them on his face. Ron was clearly asleep, so he didn't want to disturb his friend. Standing and sliding into his slippers, Harry made his way out the room, his wand in his right hand, dimly lit at the tip.

They had been at Grimmauld Place for just over a week now, and Harry was growing impatient and restless. He argued with his friends over where to go next, but without any leads, their quest to seek the remaining Horcruxes would prove a fruitless endeavor. Hermione especially had been opposed to simply leaving without a plan, which had been cause for friction between Harry and her the past couple of days.

Harry went to the kitchen, thinking that maybe food would help keep his mind off of things. He lit a couple of candles, just enough to see where he was going in the room, and set to making a sandwich. After scraping together a few bits and pieces, Harry had a decent enough sandwich and sat down at the table to devour it, realizing that he was suddenly quite hungry.

The moment he sat down, though, the door to the kitchen creaked open. Harry started for a second before realizing that it was only Hermione entering the room. She looked at him, her face etched with concern, and the signs of lack of sleep visible on her visage.

"You couldn't sleep, either?" asked Harry.

"No," she sighed in way of reply. "I thought I heard someone up, so I decided to investigate."

"Investigate?" Harry inquired wryly, with a raised eyebrow.

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave a withering sigh. "Do you care for a cup of tea?"

"Sure, it doesn't look like I'll be getting any sleep tonight, anyway, so why not?"

Hermione set to putting a kettle on the stove and preparing the tea things. When everything was ready, she placed a cup of weak tea in front of Harry and sat down opposite him, a steaming cup clasped between her small hands.

They sat in silence for a while, each taking the occasional tiny sip out of their cups. After a few minutes, Hermione ventured, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry cast her a puzzled look. "About what?"

Hermione had to refrain from sighing again in his presence. "Harry, I know what's going through your mind. Maybe you should contact the Order. They could help us."

"No," Harry said resolutely. "I don't need anyone's help. I have you guys, but without Dumbledore, there's no one who can help us."

"You don't know that," Hermione argued gently. "Surely Dumbledore must have confided some of his knowledge to some of the Order members."

Just the mention of Dumbledore's name was beginning to bring back bitter memories. Harry scowled and scoffed, "Oh, just like the Order knew all about Snape and his real motives? I still don't understand how or why Dumbledore trusted that bloody traitor - that, that... murderer."

Harry's voice grew more and more savage and raw as he spoke. Hermione reached for his hand across the table. He didn't pull away, but he didn't seem comforted, either.

Harry," Hermione said slowly, searching for the right words. "I- I've been thinking about that night when- when Dumbledore died, and the more I think about it, the less things seem to add up."

Hermione felt Harry's hand tense in her own, and then he altogether recoiled. "What doesn't add up, Hermione?" he ground out harshly. "Are you saying that I'm a liar? That Dumbledore didn't really die - no, get killed? I _saw_ the whole thing, Hermione - right in front of my eyes. Dumbledore was a fool to have trusted Snape."

"Dumbledore was not a fool!" exclaimed Hermione, realizing their voices were growing louder. Lowering her voice, she continued, "That's what I mean. You said Dumbledore begged right before he was, you know... killed. Dumbledore would never beg for his life. Think about it, Harry. Didn't Dumbledore tell you to keep giving him that poison when the two of you went into the cave that night, that no matter what you were supposed to obey him?"

"Y-yes," Harry stuttered. "And I hated every second of it!"

"What if Dumbledore would have died, anyway? You heard what Hagrid said - that he overheard Snape and Dumbledore arguing. Wouldn't it make perfect sense in the context of things if, consider for a moment, that Dumbledore ordered Snape to kill him?"

"What!" Harry exclaimed, standing up and balling his fights. "You're talking crazy, Hermione. Are you under the Imperius?"

Harry came at her like a mad man and glared into her eyes, frightening her. She knew he was searching for a glazed-over look in her eyes, but finding nothing suspicious, Harry placed a hand on each of Hermione's shoulders and literally shook her. "What's the matter with you? Are you suddenly defending Snape, just like you always did?"

Harry stopped shaking her and removed his hands, continuing to shake himself. He was enraged, but his voice was unsteady, and his eyes were tearing up. "I don't care what you say, Hermione," he whispered very quietly. "Snape killed Dumbledore."

Hermione was quite shaken up herself when she replied, "Harry, I'm not trying to justify what happened, but all I'm asking is for you to consider the possibility that maybe- maybe things aren't what they seem. Snape could have _killed_ Luna and me that night when we went to get him-"

"Well, he did stun Flitwick," protested Harry weakly.

"Yes, stun, but not kill. He could have killed anyone who got in his way. He could have killed you or taken you directly to Voldemort that night. Why didn't he?" she challenged.

"I- I don't know," Harry stammered, growing frustrated, but finding his anger again. "But it doesn't matter. I told you at the end of the school year that I would make Snape sorry he ever killed Dumbledore, and I mean to see that through," Harry said with fierce determination.

The burning rage in Harry's eyes scared Hermione. She knew she would be risking a lot by breaching this subject, but at least he had not estranged her.

"All right," Hermione gave in. "I'm sorry, Harry, for bringing up such a sore topic. I- I won't mention it again."

_But that doesn't mean I don't intend to find out the facts behind what happened between Dumbledore and Snape,_ she thought.

Too exhausted to argue further, Harry simply nodded. Feeling drained, Harry dumped the remainder of his tea down the drain and headed for the door. "Maybe I ought to just get to bed," he muttered, turning and leaving a very worried Hermione in his wake.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

An owl arrived the next morning, pecking mercilessly at the window. Annoyed, Harry went to the window and opened it. He noticed that the owl looked immediately familiar, and when realization struck him that this was Errol, the Weasleys' family owl, Harry frantically went to the bed where Ron was fast asleep and shook him.

"Ron, wake up!" he exclaimed, trying to rouse his sleep-ridden friend.

Slowly coming out of the haze, Ron blinked several times and regarded Harry dumbly. "Uh, what is it, mate?"

"Errol is here. I think you ought to take the letter he's holding. Seeing as he's obviously come here from your parents, most likely, it's either for you or Ginny."

"What?" ejaculated Ron, now shooting up from the bed and going to the sill where the owl impatiently waited. "How'd Errol know where to find us?"

"Dunno, but you'd best be reading that note," Harry said, yawning. He was now regretting having stayed up so late the past night. His conversation with Hermione came back and he scowled. Thinking about Snape, he wondered if the Weasleys' letter might have anything to do with the Order finding the traitor's whereabouts.

Ron perused the letter, glad it wasn't a Howler, at any rate. He frowned. "It's mostly about Ginny," he stated forlornly. "Mum isn't too happy that we practically kidnapped her youngest. She also says there's to be an Order meeting in two days... here."

"But who's leading the Order now that Dumbledore's gone?" blurted Harry. "And why didn't they worry about Ginny until now?"

"Beats me," Ron sighed, stratching at his neck. "But we don't really have much choice, do we? You realize the trouble we could get in with the Ministry if we refuse to return Ginny home."

"But they're your parents, too!" protested Harry hotly. "And practically parents to me as well! Surely they wouldn't do anything rash -"

"Harry, mate," Ron cut him off, holding up his hand, as if to instill some semblance of calm in his friend, "Ginny is their 'Little Girl.' She's underage, and you know it. Maybe they thought we'd return in a couple of weeks, but we've been gone a while already."

"How d'you know this letter's even genuine?" insisted Harry, making to grab the parchment from Ron's hand.

Snatching it away and using his height to his advantage, Ron held the message out of Harry's reach. "Because," Ron said evenly, although somewhat annoyed, "I had to use the family code to read it. Only a Weasley could have written this letter, and only a Weasley could read it. Did you really think my parents would be that daft? What's wrong with you, anyway, Harry? You've been acting right mental ever since you woke up this morning."

"Sorry," mumbled Harry, relenting. "Rough night. Not everyone can sleep through it like you."

Ron smiled a little at Harry's half-joke. "C'mon, let's grab some breakfast. We might as well stay here and wait for everyone to arrive. I'll write a reply to the note in the meantime and let them know we're okay."

Going downstairs to the kitchen, Harry asked, "But shouldn't Ginny know about the letter before -"

In mid-sentence, Harry opened the door to the kitchen, only to see Hermione and Ginny already awake and seated at the table. Both girls regarded the boys with exceptionally keen interest for that early in the morning.

"What letter?" inquired Ginny, giving Ron and Harry a look that challenged them to dare protest.

"Uh," Ron said, dumbstruck, hiding the letter behind his back. "Nothing, Gin."

"Really?" Ginny asked, not believing him for a moment. Standing up and charging toward her older brother, she reached for the letter, but Ron refused to give it to her. "C'mon, Ron! Stop being a prat!"

Hermione casually brought out her wand and murmured, "Accio letter!"

The letter flew out of Ron's grip and into her outstretched hand. She lazily handed it to Ginny, who snatched it any gratefully, glaring vehemently at her brother. Defeated, Ron slumped into a chair and reached for a pastry. Whilst he munched on it, Harry sat down as well and began eating breakfast, watching Ginny as she read the letter.

A look of horror grew on her face. "And you weren't going to tell me?" she accused, glowering at the boys.

"What's wrong, Ginny?" asked Hermione, clearly concerned, peaking over her shoulder at the letter.

"My parents want me to come home. They think I'll be in - How did they put it? - 'too much danger.' That's ridiculous! I'm not going back home just to wait and sit there doing nothing while you lot get to help find the Horcruxes to defeat Vol- Voldemort." She spat out the Dark Lord's name for the first time in her life, overcoming the fear of the name and of a lot more - of venturing to find dark enchanted objects that housed parts of Voldemort's soul and even risking her very life in the process.

"Of course I was gonna tell you!" argued Ron, his face turning red. "I just wanted to write back first and tell them that you would be returning home -"

"WHAT!" Ginny roared, balling her fists and standing up. "I'm not a little girl, Ronald! You have no right to make decisions for me, let alone not even tell me that you're doing it behind my back!"

Harry cast a desperate look in Ginny's direction and glanced at Hermione for help, but the Voice of Reason remained silent. Standing and going to Ginny's side, Harry placed an arm firmly around her shoulders, saying, "Don't worry, Ginny. You're not going anywhere. Besides, there's an Order meeting in two days here, so you'll see your parents then. You can tell them yourself that you don't need their protection. If they won't listen, we'll back you up, right?" Harry looked expectantly at Hermione, who nodded mutely, and then at Ron, who glared back.

"Right, then," Ron finally gave in, not happy. He had always been protective of his sister, but who was he to challenge his parents' authority?

Ron scribbled a response, trying to tell his parents not to worry, that they were safe, and that they would see them in two days' time. Errol left, happy to have gotten some breakfast in the process.

"Looks like we're stuck here another two days at the very least," Harry muttered, not pleased that they would have to wait.

"But maybe we'll find out something interesting at the meeting," Hermione suggested, trying to lighten the bleak atmosphere. "Besides, we must be allowed to join the Order now. We're all of age, and Dumbledore basically left you in charge, Harry. This is also your house now, so they can't argue against you. Do you think you're the new leader of the Order?"

"Maybe," Harry said hesitantly. In all honestly, Harry had not given the Order much thought. As was nearly always the case with him, he had taken the given task, in this case destroying the Horcruxes and ultimately Voldemort, into his two hands. He knew he could count on his closest friends, but they were the only people in his life right now whom he truly felt were on his side.

With the loss of Dumbledore had come the loss of faith in the Order's abilities. Harry didn't know yet just how much he would still need the Order - or one member of the Order in particular, even though he loathed said member with all he had right now.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Order members began knocking at the front door of Grimmauld Place, and Harry half-reluctantly welcomed them into what was now his house. As each person entered, he felt a mixed sensation of relief and gladness to see them but also the piercing unfairness that he was basically forced into allowing these guests into his house, whether he liked it or not.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were among the last to arrive, surprisingly, and after giving Harry quick greetings, they went directly to find Ginny, embracing her like they would never release her again, even though she protested that she was fine. Next, they took turns hugging Ron, expressing their worry about him "roaming around Merlin only knows where." Hermione was next, and then they turned back to Harry, who was looking at them with anticipation of their reaction to seeing both the boy they counted as another son and the young man who had stolen their daughter from them.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley said politely, holding out his hand. Harry took it and shook it, but by the look on Mr. Weasley's face, Harry knew that he was not pleased. He could only imagine what Mrs. Weasley would have to say.

"Glad you could, er, make it," Harry half-lied. "Should we go to the kitchen?"

"Just a moment, Harry," Mrs. Weasley interjected. "I have a few words for you."

Glancing helplessly at his friends, Harry gazed levelly at Mrs. Weasley and nodded.

"You three can go into the kitchen and wait," Mrs. Weasley practically ordered them.

Ginny was about to argue, but the look her mother was shooting in her direction spoke volumes about keeping her mouth shut for once. Slumping her shoulders, Ginny followed Ron and Hermione into the kitchen, casting one last glance over her shoulder at Harry, her eyes sparkling with hope that he would survive her mother's looming attack.

"Harry, what you did was irresponsible and utterly selfish," Mrs. Weasley lectured, taking on her best motherly voice. She proceeded to wag her finger at him, continuing, "I understand the importance of what you are doing, but endangering the life of my one and only daughter is completely uncalled for, and to think you involved Fred and George in your scheme, too!" Her voice was growing more and more shrill with every word, her arms raised in the air.

Mr. Weasley came toward her from behind and gently pushed her arms down, trying to calm her, murmuring, "Molly, dear, do try and relax. I agree that what Harry did was wrong, but try to see it from his point of view. He loves Ginny, don't you, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied sincerely. He felt horrible for having upset the Wealseys like this, but at the same time, he felt that he had done what he needed in the situation. "Please, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley... you have to understand that I never meant to hurt you or Ginny. I love her with everything I've got. I know what I did was reckless, but I cannot apologize for doing what I felt was necessary. Ginny would have found a way to find us. You know how determined she is. Once she sets her mind on something, there's no changing it."

Harry gave the Weasleys a hopeful look, and Mrs. Weasley felt herself crumbling. "Oh, Harry," she sighed, wiping stray tears from her eyes. "I can't stay mad with you. It's just that-"

She then embraced him like the son she had always said he was to her. "I'm sorry, Harry, but you do understand, right? I wish with all my heart that Ginny would stay home with us, where she is safer, but that would be denying her the very type of person she is, I suppose."

Harry hugged Mrs. Weasley back and nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid so. I won't push the issue anymore, but don't you think it should be up to Ginny to decide what she wants?"

Releasing Harry, Mrs. Weasley stepped back. Mr. Weasley placed her arm around her, murmuring, "Molly, you know in your heart it's the right thing to do."

Finally, she nodded. "Yes, yes... I will go ask Ginny, but I already know what her answer will be."

The three of them were just about to head into the kitchen, Harry assuming that he would have to be the one to take Dumbledore's place as head of the Order, when there came a demanding knock on the front door. Harry tentatively approached the aged door, wondering if it would simply fall to pieces one day from the insistent knocking that was always upon it. He peeked through the peephole and saw someone whom he had seen a couple of times before - the old man who worked at the Hog's Head.

He looked oddly familiar. Opening the door cautiously, Harry asked, "Yes?"

"Let me in, boy. I'm here to begin the meeting."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

The man was Aberforth Dumbledore, just as Harry had suspected. Although he bore some resemblance to his late brother, he was rougher around the edges, both physically and in the way he conducted himself. For a brief second, Harry guiltily realized that Aberforth must have felt the loss of his brother even stronger than most others, even though he didn't much show it.

"Are you here to lead the Order?" asked Harry, unsure of what to say next.

Giving Harry a stern look, Aberforth replied gruffly, "Yes, I am, Harry Potter." The old man removed his traveling cloak, and Harry noticed that he was dressed in mostly browns and tans, a stark contrast to Dumbledore's bright purples, golds, blues, and reds that he so often had donned. Noticing Harry's eyes studying him, Aberforth barked, "Well, are you just going to stare, boy, or are you going to lead me into the kitchen?"

"Oh, sorry," Harry muttered, looking away. "It's just that-"

"Yes?"

"You... you sort of look like your brother, sir, but you don't. I mean, you still reminded me of him." Harry shrugged helplessly, noticing that the Weasleys had gone into the kitchen already, leaving him alone with the surly codger.

Aberforth's lined face softened some, and placing a firm hand on Harry's shoulder, he said in a tone much gentler than previously, "It's okay, my boy. You are not the first to say that, but like you said, I am not my brother. First of all, I am very nearly twenty years younger than him." At Harry's surprised look, the old wizard chuckled. "Not that you would notice once a wizard like me is well over a hundred years old. Anyway, Albus was a very good man - always had a heart of a child, he did, but from what I know, for he told me everything himself, he was very proud of you. He called you 'His Man,' Harry. Albus had a lot of friends, but few were ever so dear to him as you were... and are. He loved you, you know."

Feeling the stinging of tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, Harry blinked them away and nodded, afraid his voice would betray him should he dare speak. "I- I never knew that he told you so much," he finally managed.

"Yes, well... I suppose I was his secret weapon of sorts. He confined much in me in case something ever happened to him. I'm sorry we were never formally introduced when Albus was still with us, but his death will not be in vain. You were left to finish what he started, but you are far from alone, Harry. You have allies that you may be surprised to learn."

This last statement was cryptic, much in the same manner in which Dumbledore had many times spoken. There was a gleam in Aberforth's dull blue eyes that was also reminiscent of Dumbledore, and just as Harry was about to ask him what he meant, Aberforth assumed a stiffened composure, stating, "It is time for the meeting to begin. Come along, Harry."

With a sigh, Harry followed him into the kitchen, where the next two hours were spent hashing over half-assumed truthful information, and Harry reluctantly admitted defeat thus far in his quest for the horcruxes. The overall feeling wasn't very conducive to promising much hope, and by the end of the meeting, about the only thing positive for Harry was that Ginny was still going to be accompanying them on their mission.

Hermione, meanwhile, paid close attention to anything that was said about Snape and his supposed whereabouts. No one in the Order seemed pleased to be discussing the man whom they believed to be a traitor of the most vile sort, but she was keenly attuned to the fact that Aberforth kept discussion to a minimun regarding Snape, and oddly enough, the aged wizard seemed almost calm about the whole affair. She thought for sure that he would have been one of the most enraged of the group, what with Dumbledore having been his brother and all.

Feeling cramped and tired, Hermione was glad when the meeting ended. Harry was talking with Aberforth, and Ron and Ginny were still talking with their parents and siblings, but everyone else had left. She felt very much alone all of a sudden, for she had not seen her own parents in quite some time, and even Harry, it seemed, now had someone to talk to. Sure, she had her friends, but despite her feelings for Ron not so long ago, she found that she wasn't growing as close to him as she would have imagined six months or a year earlier.

Standing up, Hermione slipped out of the kitchen and into the hallway, tired of looking at the same thread-bare rugs, worn wooden floors, and chipped walls and ceilings. It was still summer, after all, and bound to be quite mild outside. She felt the fresh air might do her some good.

And so, going out the front door, Hermione began walking aimlessly about the yard, glancing around. The hour was quite late, so no one was outside. She heard only the barking of a dog off in the distance and the rustling of the leaves on the trees. The amount of light from the nearest streetlamp was meagre at best, but the blackness of night didn't scare her. She felt rather relaxed as she strolled along, but then, she stopped, her eyes narrowing in on a darker area ahead. For a split second, she could have sworn she had seen a slight movement in the bushes that wasn't plant or animal.

"Who- who's there?" she asked, reaching for her wand. _Oh, I was a fool to come out here like this!_

Just as she mentally berated herself, Hermione saw something move again, only with more determination this time, as if to escape. Without hesitation, Hermione mentally cast _Stupefy_. She heard a thump in the bushes and went to investigate. Murmuring _Lumos,_ she knelt down on the damp, grassy ground and held her wand up to the person's face.

She gasped.

Looking back up at her was none other than Severus Snape.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

As Hermione gazed down at the face of the man whom many in the wizarding world would have wanted dead at this very moment, she felt an odd sensation pulling at her heart. He looked frightened and on edge, like a man who had been on the run for far too long and was just about out of options. She noticed that his cheekbones were more pronounced than usual, signaling the loss of weight he simply couldn't afford to lose in the first place. His clothes were filthy and torn, and his hair was an utter mess - more tangled than even her frizzy locks. His eyes appeared haunted and hollow. She felt like she was looking down upon a man with an empty soul, and she wanted nothing more than to cry.

_But what if I'm wrong? What if he really did murder Dumbledore out of cold blood, on Voldemort's orders?_

Casting a half-doubtful look upon Snape's prone form, Hermione couldn't bring herself to think ill of her ex-professor. She may not have particularly liked him, but as she had tried to tell Harry not long ago, there was a lot more to the man than met the eye, and if she was right in her theory, Snape was not guilty of killing Dumbledore out of pure evilness.

What she was about to do was either very brave or very foolish, but mustering up all the Gryffindor-prided courage she had, Hermione released the spell. Snape had a frenzied look about him, like a deer caught in headlights. His reflexes were as good as ever, though, and before she knew it, he had his wand at her throat.

In the darkness, Snape had not realized who his attacker had been, but from the light now emanating from the tip of his wand, he sucked in a breath of shock when he saw Hermione's face.

"Miss Granger?" he asked incredulously, not lowering his wand.

She nodded marginally.

"I apparently underestimated your ability at performing magic without uttering the words aloud," Snape muttered, still not sure what to say.

Hermione was just a shocked. Was he complimenting her?

"Pro- Professor," she said in a shaky voice.

Snape scowled and still kept his wand on her. "I am not your professor anymore, Miss Granger. What are you playing at, anyway? I suppose you have the rest of the Order just on your heels, ready to attack me and bring me to Azkaban?"

"Wh- what?" she stammered. "N- no, sir. I was just taking a walk."

Giving her a withering look, Snape sighed. "Why don't I believe you?"

Hermione found her courage again and inquired, "What are you doing here? I'm not the one who should be answering questions. I'm part of the Order now, but you- you're-"

"I'm what, Miss Granger?" he dared her.

"I- I don't know."

"Bollocks you don't know. What is that supposed to mean? If you had any sense about you, you would be running for your life."

Hermione glared at him. "And what if I were to tell you that I don't think you would harm me?" she challenged.

"You seem awfully sure of yourself." _Perhaps Aberforth did tell the Order the truth about me after all? But no, he said he wouldn't... that they wouldn't be ready..._ "Explain yourself, girl," he insisted gruffly.

"It doesn't add up, plain and simple. From everything I've learned about what happened that day, I still couldn't bring myself to believe that you would have committed such a heinous act. Dumbledore always insisted on trusting you, even when Harry challenged him about it time and again. Everything about the whole incident just seemed so planned. Hagrid even overheard the two of you arguing earlier that year, and from what I remember, what you said to Dumbledore - about not wanting to do it anymore - that fits in context perfectly. I refuse to believe that you are evil. You've always looked out for us, even when we thought you were trying to get the Philosopher's Stone."

Snape marginally lowered his wand. Studying her closely, he finally sighed. "You have more intelligence than your friends and more sense to see the truth, even when it's so hidden. You do realize what a risk you took tonight, Miss Granger, in going outside alone. If I meant you ill, you would have been taken and played with by the Death Eaters, beaten, raped, ravaged until you were nothing but a broken shell, and then you would have died."

"I know, sir. It was foolish of me to have left on my own, but that house - it's just another dead end. The meeting wasn't very productive, either." She stopped herself before going too far. "But you still haven't answered my question as to why you are here, sir."

Finally, Snape lowered his wand. He had been on his guard, but by looking her in the eyes, he knew she was sincere. "Aberforth told me to come, just in case. He and I have been in communication this past month. He knows the truth, but he felt others would not be so ready and willing to concede to the truth regarding me. I am a tainted man, now more than ever, Miss Granger. You are the only other person who believes in my supposed innocence besides Aberforth."

"So that's why he didn't seem angry when you were brought up during the meeting," Hermione muttered thoughtfully. "So, you're still a spy?"

Snape gave a slight nod. "And he has reason to think I still might be useful, although I highly doubt that."

The embittered self-hatred in his tone tore at Hermione's heart. She wanted to reach out to him, but she knew he was bite back like a wounded animal. "You could help us," Hermione whispered. "Harry is trying to find-"

Stopping herself, as not wanting to reveal too much, Hermione was surprised when Snape finished for her: "-to find the remaining horcruxes. Yes, I know. There is much that Aberforth had told me."

Her mouth formed into an "O," and Hermione nodded. "Well, then, yes. You could help us. We've had no luck so far. I'm sure I could convince the others-"

"Do not be so sure of yourself, Miss Granger," interjected Snape, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest. "You assume far too much. They would never accept me after what I have done, especially Potter."

"But if I talked to him- He wouldn't try to-"

Snape shook his head. "No, this must remain a secret. If I am to help you, it will be in secret. You are clever enough to keep communication with me to a minimum, but I could give you useful information, and you, being the bookworm you are, could pass it along to your friends, as if you had found it. They would never suspect a thing."

He made a good point. Hermione frowned, though, realizing that Snape would once again be playing the backseat role, the role for which he would never be properly recognized. Now she would practically be playing the role of another master to him.

"I- I'm sorry," Hermione said softly, instinctively reaching out to touch his arm.

Snape recoiled as if someone had poured acid on him. "What are you apologizing for, girl? I do not need your sympathy, nor do I want it. It won't do any good in this war, anyway, so why bother wasting it on the likes of me?"

Unable to stop herself from crying, a stray tear rolling down her cheek, Hermione choked, "Because it's mine to give, and I'm not wasting it on you. If I didn't know better, I would say that you need some sort of sympathy, more so that most." _Hasn't anyone ever loved you?_

Snape gave her a searching look. He could read her vibes and was truly at a loss for words at to why she was suddenly exhibiting these sorts of feelings toward him. He said nothing and stood.

"I will be in contact with you, Miss Granger."

With those words, he apparated away, but as he disappeared, Hermione that she heard the words, "Good luck, Hermione" in the wind.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

The days gradually grew shorter and the mornings and evenings cooler as summer stretched out. September 1, the day that had always marked the beginning of a new year at Hogwarts, came and went, and the school sat empty and desolate, echoes passing through the hallways of years past. Not much later, Hermione's birthday came and went, and she didn't even realize until two days after her birthday that she was eighteen.

Her friends looked at her, half-surprised they could have forgotten and half-surprised she had brought it up. By this point in their journey, they had traveled through several villages in Britain, keeping their profile as inconspicuous as possible. Their tired, dirty, sweat-stained faces gazed at her as they wished her a belated happy birthday. Hermione smiled slightly, both sad that they were in this state when they normally would have been sleeping comfortably in beds each night and grateful that she had such wonderful friends to have even taken the time to wish her well on her birthday, despite their current circumstances.

She kept in regular correspondence with Snape, receiving owls usually at night when the others had gone to sleep. She could always say the letter was from her parents, and while she felt bad having to lie to her closest friends, she knew that, in the long run, it would be worth it. Snape was risking a lot by helping them, and since she had agreed to keep in touch with him, she was not about to suddenly change her mind and break her promise.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny were impressed with Hermione when she told them the location of Hufflepuff's Cup, which was buried in the middle of Stonehenge, a very powerful magical place that would naturally offer much protection. The problem the foursome faced now, of course, was how to get past the barriers and destroy the horcrux.

Days seemed inconsequential. They came and went like flashes of lightning, and by now, autumn was in its prime, the days definitely chillier and the nights longer. Arriving one mid-October evening after the sun had already set at Stonehenge, the four young wizards and witches glanced about their surroundings, taking in every detail. As Harry had learned from his trip with Dumbledore to the cave to retrieve the locket, details were important. One never knew what to expect.

Holding their wands at the ready, they approached the first circle of megaliths, expecting a magical barrier to be erected that would prevent them from entering. But there was nothing. Harry, especially, was quite suspicious about this.

"Someone might have gotten here before us," he muttered.

"What makes you think that?" asked Ron, clearly worried.

"Surely you'd expect some sort of protection," insisted Harry. "Trust me, after having been to that cave a few months ago, I would know."

"No one's questioning your judgment, Harry," Ginny reassured him softly, placing a hand on his arm.

Nodding, Harry murmured, "I know. Just... be ready for anything."

Hermione felt butterflies whirling about frantically inside her stomach. _What if Snape got here first and found a way to release the wards? Sure, that would be helping us, but we never agreed to him actually being present at the sites were the horcruxes are. If Harry sees him..._

Too late.

Hermione was watching Harry as he trekked past the massive stones and into the center of the structure. He stopped, tensing, and when she managed to see his face, it hardened, and the grip on his wand became white-knuckled. He raised his wand and silently cast a spell.

Snape, who had raced behind a stone at the last minute, avoided being hit. Hermione wasn't sure what spell Harry had cast, but she wagered it had not been a nice one. She hoped he wouldn't be foolish enough to cast an Unforgivable. Before she realized what she was doing, Hermione dodged in front of the area where Snape was, shouting, "No!"

"Hermione, are you bloody mad?" barked Harry. "Get the hell out of there! That bloody bastard deserves nothing short of death after what he's done!"

Harry charged toward Snape, ignoring Hermione as she tried to push him back, but he was too strong. With all her strength and determination, Hermione sprinted toward the two wizards and positioned herself directly in front of Snape. She didn't have a chance to see the older man's face, but she heard his voice in her ear.

"Miss Granger, don't be foolish. Move out of the way before he hits you with something he intends for me."

"No," Hermione said, her teeth clenched. She was glaring at Harry, who was now just five feet away. He stopped, breathing heavily, glaring back at Hermione.

"What did you do to her, Snape?" Harry demanded. "Put her under the Imperius? Hermione, move!"

"I did no such thing, Potter!" snarled Snape. "She, unlike you, has some sense and brains."

There was a long pause. The tension was so thick, it could have been severed with a blade. Ron and Ginny stood off on the sidelines, their wands in their hands, but completely dumbfounded. Finally, it was Snape was spoke again.

He made to step around Hermione and said evenly, "Do what you have come to do, then, Potter."

Harry faltered. This was not what he had been expecting to hear. For a moment, he just stared back, but then, he raised his wand, intent on casting the Killing Curse.

"NO!" Hermione bellowed, roughly pushing herself in front of Snape again. "Harry, please!" She turned around briefly to Snape and literally grabbed his robes, shaking him. "What the hell is the matter with you? You would choose death over life? After all you've done?"

Snape locked eyes with Hermione, and even though in real time it had only been for a second, in the time of that shared moment, it could have been an eternity. All Hermione saw in those once black and cold eyes was desperation and emptiness. If she thought she had seen a man lost and without purpose several weeks ago, now she saw a man who wanted nothing more than to die.

"No," she whispered. "Please..."

Stupefied, Harry glowered at them, coming closer. "What is going on? Hermione, you aren't under the Imperius, are you?" It wasn't a question.

"No, Harry," she said quietly, afraid to look him in the eyes.

"You... you've been helping... him?" Harry asked, his voice cracking. He felt betrayed, like an icy hot dagger had pierced his insides.

All Hermione could do was nod.

"How long?"

"Since the Order meeting." Before Harry could say anything more, Hermione practically begged, "Harry, Snape has been helping us find the horcruxes. Please, you must listen to me. I'm sorry I went behind your back, but I knew you would have tried to kill him first thing if you knew. Remember what I tried to tell you at Grimmauld Place? He killed Dumbledore on Dumbledore's orders. He didn't want to do it, and now... now, can't you see? All he wants to do is die? Look at him, for heaven's sake!" she cried, pointed at Snape, who was at a loss for words. "Does this look like the face of a man who is cold-blooded? Harry, he's not Voldemort."

For the first time since the encounter, Harry noticed that Snape didn't even have his wand drawn. Harry had seen Snape's unpleasant face more times than he would have liked, but he had never seen him looking like he was already half-dead. Finally, Harry had some sense returning to him, and he lowered his wand.

"You could have taken me to him that night," Harry said to Snape, referring to the night of Dumbledore's death.

Snape's mouth went dry. He only inclined his head a fraction.

"So, is what Hermione says true?"

"Yes," Snape rasped.

Harry surveyed the henge, as if deep in thought, contemplating what to do next. "And I suppose you were the one who lowered the wards here? The one who lead us here in the first place?"

"Yes."

Harry wasn't pleased, but he wasn't ready to kill the other man, either. Hermione felt like Harry owed Snape an apology and a thank you, but that would have been far too much to ask, especially right in this moment. For Harry to have spared Snape's life was mercy enough to apologize and thank him a thousand times over.

"Let's get that cup, then," Harry said, turning away from Hermione and Snape and going back toward Ron and Ginny.

Once Harry had walked away, Snape was still in stock. He looked down at Hermione, blinking several times.

"You didn't have to do that," he murmured, his voice impassive but his eyes grateful.

"What? And let him just kill you? I don't think so, sir," Hermione replied. "Like I told you, after all you've done... to help us?"

"I am not sure I would have been half as noble as you had I been in your position, Miss Granger, but I thank you nonetheless."

Hermione smiled a little and placed a reassuring hand on Snape's lower left arm, where she knew the Dark Mark was. This time, Snape did not recoil. He allowed himself the small grace of smiling back, and Hermione felt a warmth invade her heart when she saw that smile.

"You should smile more often," she said simply. "It becomes you nicely."

"I haven't had much reason to smile," Snape replied sullenly, the smile slipping. "Until now," he amended, allowing its brief return.

"Come," Hermione invited.

Snape followed Hermione to the others, not knowing what might be down the road. As they uncovered the cup, Snape knew it was another step in the right direction. He thought about the direction his life had taken these past few months and realized in one startling thought that the path he had chosen was the right one, for once. Harry, too, finally felt that they were going the right direction in their quest. One step closer. One day at the time. Life grants us just the right amount of time to do what we must. It is left up to us to use it wisely.

"Where do I go from here?" Snape whispered later that night, not knowing that Harry was asking the same question.

The answer felt so much the surer than it had months before. Perhaps there was no definite answer, but the answer was to venture forth together, and together was a lot better than alone.

The End

Author's Notes: Many thanks to all my readers and reviewers! big hugs There will be a sequel, yes! It's called Hollowed and Hallowed, will pick up after the final battle, and will be SS/HG (Snape/Hermione).


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